


Honey Blind

by reafterthought



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Frontier
Genre: Freeverse, Gen, Poetry, essentially the Kouichi getting brainwashed scene, ffn challenge: diversity writing challenge, word count: 501-1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reafterthought/pseuds/reafterthought
Summary: He still had blinkers over his eyes; they were still stuck/ but instead of glue, they were stuck/ with honey instead.





	Honey Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, b3 - over 500 word poem.

There are blinkers over his eyes and heart, his soul and mind

And he can pretend they're just cool sunglasses to block out the glare  
except the sun's gone and winked out, and he doesn't own sunglasses;  
no point when he can just pull the cap up over his fringe  
to shield his eyes

But caps don't add a film layer before his eyes, and he's not a blind bat  
to need prescriptions – at least, not yet; apparently it's genetic  
and the curse of their generation: computer screens and the rapidly dropping  
price of sugar and oily foods while the fruits and vegetables keep on climbing  
up and up that means more than half of them will wind up with diabetes  
and the loaded baggage that comes along with it.

Right now, though, he's wandering aimlessly with a blindfold  
but there's no donkey to pin tails on, or piñatas to smash  
and he ain't got a stick in his hand to smash it with, or guide him  
like a blind bat, a blind man; he's got blinkers on  
so he can't see a thing, and there's no guidewire  
to tell him otherwise, no ambient sounds, no cool breeze  
on his hands or face.

It's a vacuum and maybe he doesn't need physical blinds  
in a vacuum, because there's no air, no light, no sound  
and it'll crush him, slowly; it'll shield him from the noise  
as he crumbles, because they're that pathetic: they can't hide  
in a vacuum, because it'll choke them and crush them  
and suck them up like dust.

They need to breathe. They need light just as much  
but there are blinkers over his eyes and heart, his soul and mind  
and, in a blink, he wants them off  
but they won't come off. They're there  
and they're there to stay, because he didn't take good care  
when he had the chance and now it's too late:  
there's no laser beam, no sun to fuel it's rays  
to burn them off his eyelids, and no breeze to knock them loose  
or water to wash them off: they're stuck tight  
and even when he starts to scratch at them because he wants them  
off off off  
they stay; they're stuck for good.

He can't pretend they're cool sunglasses;  
hell, he doesn't even want sunglasses; he wants to see the light  
he was chasing, he wants to keep on chasing –  
but isn't that the whole problem? That he stumbled while he chased  
and it all slipped away from him  
and the vacuum came up from behind?

The blinkers came up from behind too; the guy with the blindfold  
so did that mean someone would take his hand now and lead him?  
Or would they abandon him here, to be crushed by the dark walls  
of his sightless prison, where even his voice didn't leave a lasting echo…

And then there was a light, and a voice: a sweet honey voice  
and a hand reaching out to him

And he still had blinkers over his eyes; they were still stuck  
but instead of glue, they were stuck  
with honey instead.


End file.
